Virus Story
by no name kid
Summary: PG-13 for language. ActionAdventure will ensue. So summary: There's this virus...I don't know, I'm really bad at summarizing.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: X-Men are property of Marvel, and are being used without   
  
permission (of course). Do you really think I could get permission to   
  
use copyrighted characters in a story this lame? Please don't sue me...unless you WANT   
  
my college loans. I'm certainly not making money off this. Also, I guess I should include this in the disclaimer:   
  
I'm by no means an X-Men expert. I've seen both movies and a handful of   
  
cartoons. This is my first X-Men fic, and the first fic I've ever posted. Very possibly the last too. Flame away,   
  
if you want. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm probably unknowingly   
  
plagiarizing something. I promise I'll go back to writing only about stuff I know   
  
about. But, still, feel free to tell me if you like it. I had some issues with formatting this when i tried to post it yesterday, and it got all squished together...I hope I've fixed it and that fanfic.net isn't going to throw me out because I've accidentally, in a fit of newbie-ness, posted the same story multiple times.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Logan, would you mind taking this to Rogue?" Jean asked without   
  
looking up from the pot on the stove. She stirred the soup a couple more times,   
  
turned the burner down, and put on the lid. Logan stealthily tried sneaking   
  
out of the kitchen, ignoring her.   
  
"Logan!" she shouted. He grumbled, turning around, poking his head   
  
in the doorway.   
  
"What?" He sniffed, smelling the soup. "Mmmmm, smells like chicken soup. "You inviting me fer lunch?" he asked while cracking a slight smile.  
  
Jean rolled her eyes, back still turned to him, and she rinsed out the empty soup can in the sink. 'Grow up, Logan. You've got to help out around here too, you knew you were supposed to take this soup to Rogue,' she   
  
thought to herself.  
  
"Relax, I was only kidding!" he said, lifting his hands, palms outward, in mock-defense. "And I'm just as grown up as One-Eye over there," he motioned towards Scott, who was passing by.  
  
"I didn't say..."  
  
"I heard ya," he interrupted, snarling.  
  
"Everything ok in here?" Scott glared at Logan before continuing down the hall.   
  
"Just take this soup up to Rogue's room," Jean ordered Logan. He snatched the bowl away, nearly spilling half the contents.   
  
'Dammit, Logan!' Jean silently cursed to herself without speaking. Somehow, Logan heard anyway, even though she didn't say it out loud.  
  
"No, damn YOU," Logan was pissed off now. He didn't intend on hurting Jean, but his claws shot out anyway. These days, it was more of a reflexive action when he was angry, rather than something he had much control over.   
  
Jean was shocked. Not because of his claws--on the contrary, she had been expecting them earlier--but because he had been able to hear here thoughts.   
  
'Logan, can you hear me?' she thought.  
  
"Of course I can hear you," he wasn't looking at her, something in his hand felt strange. He put down the soup on the counter, and retracted his claws. It hurt more than extending them had, he growled as his knuckles slowly healed.   
  
"I'm going to talk to Professor Xaivier, I think something might be happening. Take that soup to rogue, and meet me back downstairs, and tell Scott, Storm, and Hank, if you see them," Jean finally said out loud.  
  
"Why am I taking her this soup, again?" Logan asked.  
  
"She has the flu," Jean said out loud, and then thought to herself, "honestly, you'd think that you of all people would pay a little more attention." Her thoughts trailed off once he had started to protest what he shouldn't have been able to hear.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
*KNOCK KNOCK*   
  
"Come in," he heard Rogue's voice through the oak door, ignoring the twinge of pain he felt as he tightened his hand around the doorknob.   
  
"Jean...uh...Professor Grey asked me to bring this to ya, kiddo. Smells like chicken noodle," he put the bowl down on the table by the bed.   
  
"So...you feel ok?" he asked awkwardly. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, illness being fairly foreign to him, but he felt like he should try to say something.  
  
"A bit better."  
  
"Good," he said, slowly exiting the room.  
  
"Logan, have you ever been sick? Ah mean, can you get sick, with   
  
your healing and all," she asked. Logan walked back over to the bed and sat down in the chair near the bedside table with the soup on it. He looked down at his hands, intentionally avoiding her eyes.   
  
"Never mind, forget I asked," Rogue said, breaking the uncomfortable   
  
silence.   
  
  
  
Logan quietly answered, "I don't think I've ever been sick for very   
  
long," he mumbled. "Maybe a slight headache here or there," his voice   
  
got louder.   
  
"Only the ones that jackass Cyclops gives me," he winked. "Eat yer soup before it gets cold," he said, walking out the door.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Logan headed down the hall, where he ran into Scott.   
  
"Where've you been? The Professor wants to talk to you," Scott said coldly. Logan didn't answer, he had been half-joking about Scott giving him headaches, but he started to feel a slight pulse at his temple that   
  
hadn't been there before. "You might want to try to absorb some of the information he has, see if you can get it through that thick skull of yours."  
  
"Cool it, bub," was the strongest insult Logan manage. They walked down the hall to one of the medical rooms, most likely where Hank had been working.   
  
---------------------------  
  
"A virus?" Logan looked around the room at the other X-Men.  
  
"Yes," replied Xaivier. "Allow me to explain. Several years ago, sometime before Jean arrived here, a virus spread that created havoc among mutants in the United States and parts of Europe. It didn't have any effect whatsoever on humans, but it created a power reversal in many mutants. Those with powers such as Scott and Storm's weren't greatly affected; they only found it difficult to control their abilities. Both of them have already received the vaccination. I'll have Hank explain that in a minute," he paused for a moment. "In Jean's case, the virus has made select thoughts available to for others to hear. The rhombusweed can be used as a combination vaccination and antibiotic.   
  
Storm and Scott have already had their shots, so to speak," he continued. "I'm sending the three of you to Obsidor Lake to collect some rhombusweed."  
  
Hank handed Storm and plastic bag, "This should do it," he said. "I can have vaccinations done at the latest by noon tomorrow. I'm familiar with the virus, I did some experimenting in the lab around the time of the last outbreak...." Storm suggested they get going soon as Hank started to get into the more complex properties of the rhombusweed.  
  
"Logan, this virus is going to be most dangerous for you. If you feel even the slightest bit different you need to say something. You won't be able to heal if your cut, and your immune system will be significantly   
  
down," Storm warned him. "You don't know if you've been vaccinated, do you?"  
  
"There's only one way to find out," Logan answered, shooting out a single claw. He retracted it immediately, trying not to let Scott and Storm see him wince in pain. The cut didn't heal, and blood welled up between his   
  
knuckles.   
  
Scott opened the car door, reached into the medicine cabinet, and threw a box of bandages to Logan. "Looks like I'm driving."  
  
Logan grumbled, fixing his hand as he climbed into the back seat, "better be a short drive." He folded his knees up behind the front seat. 'There's no point riding in a sports car if you can't drive' he thought to himself.   
  
"You remember what it looks like?" Scott asked, parking the car near the lake. Logan noted the air of condescension in his voice.   
  
"Yeah Eye-boy, I know," Logan cut Scott's description of the plant short ("Interestingly enough the shape of the leaves are nearly perfect rhombuses, which is like a square, only more diamond-shaped..."), and crashed off into the woods.  
  
"What was that about?" Storm asked, referring to Logan's running off.   
  
"Who knows? Maybe the wolfman saw his long lost uncle," Scott chuckled to himself.  
  
Logan stopped only a few yards into the woods, and collapsed behind a large tree. His hand still hurt, his head was pounding, and his insides were rebelling against him. 'Carsick, or something' he thought, as he started to   
  
relax. A wave of nausea crept over him and he lurched forward, vomiting on a small bush in front of him.   
  
"Shh... Scott, did you hear that?"  
  
Scott nearly fell over laughing as Logan emerged from the forest, trying to act tough.   
  
"What's so funny?" he growled weakly.   
  
"Nothing," Scott laughed, "it's just that I didn't know that the invincible Wolverine got carsick."  
  
"That's enough! Logan, I want you to see Hank when we get back. Scott, shut up," there was only so much of their petty rivalry she could put up with. She turned back to Logan, "if you need to, go wait in the car."  
  
"Just don't puke on the seats," Scott snickered. Logan lunged at him, only to have Storm push him back. He heard Scott's laughter ringing through his ears as he toppled over.  
  
"I'm serious, I don't want you hurting yourself!" Her eyes flashed.  
  
"Ok already!" Logan stomped off to the car, leaving Scott and Storm to collect the rest of the rhombusweed.  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Thank you, I've got everything else prepared, I just need to stew the rhombusweed for precisely three hours," a gracious Hank said when Storm handed him the bag of rhombusweed.  
  
"Hank, I want you to take a look at--" Storm said. "Where'd he go? Logan, get back in here," she called, sticking her head out into the hallway and catching him on his way back to his room.  
  
"Look," he said more quietly than he had planned. "I'd rather just go lie down or something." He walked back into the room with her anyway.  
  
"Logan? What can I do for you?" Hank asked politely, not looking up from the rhombusweed concoction he was stirring. It looked like Hank had pureed the leaves and the stuff he was stirring had a thick consistency. It   
  
wasn't a pretty sight; Logan thought he'd be sick again if he stared at it any longer. Storm left.  
  
"Not feeling so hot, are you?" Hank asked. "Take a seat."  
  
Logan sat down, a mixture of embarrassment and anger filled his face.   
  
"I'm not a little kid, ya know," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Let me see your hand." The slit from the claws began bleeding again as soon as Hank removed the bandages. He spread some antibacterial ointment over the cut, and put on some clean   
  
bandages.   
  
"I'll be going now, if you don't mind," Logan stood up. Dizziness forced him back to the chair. Hank looked at him cautiously as he threw the old bandages in the trash. Logan didn't say anything.   
  
"Let's have a look," Hank said. He inspected Logan's bloodshot eyes. "Here," he handed him a   
  
thermometer. Logan looked at it suspiciously. "Put it under your tongue. To see if you have a fever or not." Not in the mood to argue, Logan did what he was told. Hank picked up a stethoscope off the counter. He explained to Logan what its purpose was. Logan gasped, swearing under his breath, as the cold stethoscope touched his back. He dropped the thermometer, and it shattered on the floor.   
  
"Ok, ok, just hold on a second," Hank handed him a second thermometer and went to clean up the broken one.   
  
"That's freezing, bub," Logan snarled, pulling his shirt back over his head. He stuffed the thermometer into his mouth and glared at Hank. Hank tended to the stewing rhombusweed as he waited for the thermometer to read Logan's temperature. 'You'd think with all the wonderful technologically advanced equipment around here, we'd have some electronic thermometers,' he thought to himself.  
  
Logan mumbled something. "About one more minute," Hank told him.  
  
"Well, Beast?" Logan raised his eyebrow at Hank, when he finally took the thermometer.   
  
"102.7 degrees Fahrenheit. You've got a fever. Dizziness, nausea?"  
  
Logan nodded.  
  
"I'd say you probably picked up the flu from one of the children, it is that time of year--" he looked to the door.   
  
"Oh, Storm, glad to see you. Would you mind walking Logan back to his room? He's got a fever, wouldn't be surprised if it was the flu."  
  
Storm nodded, helping Logan stand up. "How's the rhombusweed coming?"   
  
"Good, it should be a few more hours still, but it's coming along nicely," he smiled, showing her the container of rhombusweed.   
  
"Rather strong odor," she commented. Logan's face turned greener than the stewing plant matter.   
  
"Come on, you do have to walk," she said, as they left the room.   
  
---------------------------  
  
After making sure Logan got back to his room all right, Storm went to see Professor Xaivier.   
  
"Ah, Storm, I've been wanting to speak with you. I know it's been troubling you as much as it has me. The last time there was an outbreak of this virus--"  
  
"Bio-terrorism," she interrupted. "But who?"  
  
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," he answered. Storm nodded.   
  
"How is Logan? You know that we'll need him to be in top condition in case..." his voice trailed off. There was something he knew that he wasn't sharing with her.   
  
"He's sleeping now," she answered.   
  
"The sooner Dr. McCoy gets done with the vaccine, the better. I have a feeling whoever planned this hadn't taken his knowledge into account." Storm nodded, and left the room.  
  
---------------------------  
  
Logan lay in bed, he shivered under the heavy blankets. He felt exhausted, but he couldn't fall asleep. Eventually he must have nodded of because he heard voices outside his door.  
  
"It won't be a shock to his system? You don't think we ought to wait until the fever goes down?" a woman's voice asked.  
  
"No, he'll be fine. With his immune system the way it is, there's no way he'll get much better, but perhaps we should wait just a little bit longer, he's probably still sleeping."   
  
'That must be Hank and Storm,' Logan thought. The voices went away, and he sighed. He kicked the blankets off the bed, but immediately felt as if he had plunged into an icy pool of water. He tossed and turned a bit more, trying to go back to sleep.  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Logan? Sorry to wake you," Hank said quietly.  
  
Logan sat up. "Huh? What? Go away!" He was disoriented, the others stood back to avoid the adamantium claws, but he didn't extend them. The confusion faded, he remembered where he was, and why Hank was standing over him with a syringe.  
  
"Professor Xaivier didn't think we should wait any longer, the others have all had their shots, and they're fine. He, the professor, wants to talk to you after you're feeling better."  
  
Logan nodded. He cringed as Hank injected him with the rhombusweed. Behind his closed eyes he saw the image of the leaves stewing in the lab--enough to make him sick in his weakened state. Logan opened his eyes.   
  
"Well?" Logan asked, annoyed that he still felt miserable.  
  
"It'll take a good half an hour for it to take effect. Just stay in bed, and remember to meet the professor downstairs when you're feeling up to it," Storm told him, resting her hand on his still-feverish forehead. Logan   
  
didn't say anything; he just fell back into the pillows.  
  
--------------------------- 


	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own any of the characters or anything else mentioned in this story. I'd like to borrow Logan's claws to go after those bastard typos that escaped my spellchecker last chapter...  
  
Notes: thanks silvergrifin for the kind review.  
  
One more thing...well, two actually. Any suggestions on villains are more than welcome. I'm kinda stuck on which bad guys should be behind this. As for the comic relief portion: I'm sure it's been done before, if not multiple times. Just warning you about that...   
  
On with the story...  
  
Logan woke up a few hours later, plagued by the usual nightmares. The clock read 2:17. 2:17 what? AM? PM? He tumbled out of bed, claws out, slashing at the sheets he was tangled in. Fit of thrashing over, he brushed the shards of cloth off, face hinting some embarrassment. Sure, there was no one in the room, but he felt disoriented and a little confused (he hadn't decided it late night or afternoon yet) and couldn't help but hear some joke comparing that rather oafish display to ol' Gumbo's natural agility.  
  
Standing next to the window, looking into the dark Westchester, New York night, he determined that it was 2:17 AM, rather than PM. Gathering his bearings, he began an inventory of his virus-induced physical ailments.  
  
-hands: after the incident with the sheets, they'd healed like they usually did  
  
-head: his headache was gone  
  
-stomach: no sign of nausea  
  
The fever seemed to be gone too, so he decided to head down to the kitchen for a beer.   
  
The next day, after the "how are you feeling?" interrogation process and Xavier's update on the information he and the rest of the X-Men had gathered regarding the virus outbreak-or lack thereof, all they knew was that it seemed isolated-Logan raided the fridge for some breakfast. Before he knew it, Scott had him cornered and was handing him a grocery list.  
  
"You've got to be kiddin', Cyke! There's no way I'm doing the flamin' grocery shopping! Get 'Ro to do it! You go do it!"  
  
"She's doing research on the outbreak, I'm busy, you're the only one not doing anything," Scott emphasized the last phrase coldly. "Take Jubilee or one of the others with you." Scott looked down at the list, "you may want to bring her with you, actually," he fought back a smirk. Logan wasn't listening.  
  
"No damn way!"  
  
Suddenly Hank bounded into the room, followed by Bobby. Logan shot them a death-glare. Hank opened his mouth to say something.  
  
"Can it, McCoy. Twinkies ain't on the list."  
  
Bobby snatched the paper from Logan and grabbed the pen that Scott was holding, scribbling hastily. "They are now," he grinned.  
  
"Thirkres?" Logan attempted to read Bobby's writing. He grumbled and headed off to the garage to get one of the cars.  
  
Tossing a box of Cheeze-Its into the cart, Logan consulted the list one last time. Suddenly he froze, "T-T-T-T," he sputtered out loud to himself. He quickly parked the cart in the cereal aisle and ran outside to the pay phone.  
  
"Hello?" fortunately for him, Jubilee answered.  
  
"Hey, Jubes, you gotta help me out, kid."  
  
"Wolvie? What happened?"  
  
"Cyke sent me to the grocery store, Jean or someone," he paused, grimacing.   
  
Jubilee started laughing on the other end of the phone line. "Let me guess, tampons are on the list?"  
  
Logan grunted. "I'm heading back to the mansion, I'll pick you up in a minute," he hung up, hopped into the car and sped off.  
  
"He's back!" Bobby and Hank were waiting near the door.   
  
"There's no Twinkies in the car, bub. Didn't do the shopping yet."  
  
Jubilee sped out the door, grabbing the sleeve of Logan's shirt as she ran out the door, "Come on Wolvie," she said.  
  
"I uh forgot to bring Jubilation. One-eye said t' take her along," he muttered gruffly.  
  
Bobby winked at Hank as they left. He grinned, whispering what he had seen on the list when he   
  
took it to add the coveted snack item.  
  
Logan stuffed his hands uncomfortably into his pockets as the last package went through the checkout, trying to retain some sense of his tough image. He paid for the groceries quickly, snarl matching the cashier's smirk. Jubilee pushed the cart out of the store.   
  
"Oh Wolvie it's no big deal!" she smiled, pushing the cart across the parking lot.  
  
"It's a huge flamin'," he stopped, detecting a foul odor in the air. *SNICKT * He swung his arm backwards, adamantium slashing through a gob of green slime, narrowly missing the car door. "Toad," he muttered under his breath, almost running off in pursuit of the amphibious villain before noticing that he was nowhere in sight and his scent had faded almost entirely. "Come on, let's get outta here," he said, retracting the claws and stuffing the last grocery bag in the trunk. 


End file.
